


Unintentional Sender

by ajremix



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 20:39:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1701776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajremix/pseuds/ajremix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone's been faxing disturbing things to the Blues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unintentional Sender

Were it any other Blue, Sarge would've kept them waiting for about an hour before deciding to hear what they had to say, simply because a) they might get bored and leave before he had to listen to their dirty Blue talk, and b) they were too cowardly to go into the base and demand to be heard. Unfortunately, their Freelancer guy was neither cowardly nor patient and there was no way in hell Sarge would let even a partial Blue like him violate the sanctity that was Red Base. So Sarge stood by the man cannon and shouted down, "Whaddya want, Bluelancer?"

By now, Wash had gotten so desensitized to the plethora of blue-related insults that he no longer gave them pause. "We want you to stop faxing us!"

"What?"

"Faxing us! Stop it!"

Sarge pondered that for a moment. "What in Sam Hell are you talking about?" He didn't even remember seeing a fax machine in Red Base, let alone knowing what the number to the Blues' was.

"At first we didn't care because we thought you'd get tired of it, but it's been _a month_ now. And when you started sending batches of them two to three times a day- that's just ridiculous!" Wash lifted up a hand stuffed with papers. Something was printed on them, but it was too far for Sarge to make out. "And it's always the same one. That's how often you've been sending them, we can tell it's from one person!"

"Son, I know you Freelancers like your strange delusions, but here on Red Team we require a bit of intelligence in our conversations."

"Not a single one of you has an ounce of intelligence."

"If you don't start making a lick of sense, you can just deal with your problem on your side of the canyon."

Wash's sigh was so heavy, Sarge could hear it from where he was standing. "Look- all I'm saying is whoever is faxing us copies of their dick needs to stop. Caboose is starting to get nightmares."

"...I believe I told you to start making sense."

"I have the proof right here!" He shook his fist of papers again.

"Alright, alright. Come in and we'll figure this thing out."

The moment Wash stood in the Red Base hall and showed his proof, Sarge regretted every little thing that built up to that moment. "Great Jumpin' Jesuits- why do you have that?"

" _Because you're sending them to us_!"

Sarge pushed at Wash's hands, trying to turn the multitude of grayscale dicks away from his eyes. "We don't even have a fax machine here!"

"Who else would be able to send them here? We can barely even get radio signals from outside the canyon."

"I don't know, but it ain't us!"

"Hey, Sarge! Why didn't you tell me we had guests, I would've made snickerdoodles! Say, what've you got there?"

Oh hell, it was Donut. Everything just got infinitely worse. Donut took a couple pages, flipped through them, then slowly looked up at the other two men. "Um... Is there something I should know about?"

Sarge rallied as best he could, "We're trying to figure out who's been faxing these things to the Blues."

"Well, we have. See? Our number is right up top."

Wash whipped his head back at Sarge in a very 'I _knew_ it' fashion.

"Donut, we don't _have_ a fax machine."

"Sure we do! Sort of. Don't you remember, Sarge? You used it when you were making Simmons 2.0."

"Did I? Well, I'll be- I did!" There was a long, vaguely disturbed pause. "How is Simmons sending faxes of someone's John Thomas?"

Donut tilted his head to one side. "Is that a beauty mark? I didn't know you could get them there! I wish I had one."

Wash rubbed at the brim of his helmet. "And suddenly this conversation managed to get even _more_ disturbing."

"What's going on over here?" There was only one person capable of that level of apathetic resignation and, sure enough, Grif was coming down the hall toward them. When he saw the papers, however, he rocked to a very sudden halt. The "Where did you get that?" that tumbled out of his mouth was more near-panic than it was disturbed curiosity.

"Someone's been faxing copies of their dick to the Blues," Donut answered, waving one of said copies around for the whole world to see. "We know it's _definitely_ coming from the one Sarge installed in Simmons, but we don't know how these things are being transmitted."

"Uh... hmmm. That's.... hmm."

Under his helmet, Wash narrowed his eyes at Grif, watching the way he was tense all over, fidgeting on the balls of his feet. For the briefest moment he wondered how that was even physically possible before the first flash of a mental image had him let out a groan like a full bodied shudder. "You know what? We're just going to unplug our machine. Figure it out yourselves." Turning on his heel, Wash marched out of Red Base and wished he had a way to scrub his mind clean.


End file.
